


The Beach

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Shared Mind Spaces, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26449855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Soulmates can meet any time in a shared mind space. Stiles and Peter's space is a beach. Stiles visits it as often as possible, to escape the reality that his mom is dying. Peter is always there when Stiles finds the beach, because his mind is trapped there, while his body is laying in a hospital bed. Together, they try to find the courage to continue on the other side.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834501
Comments: 14
Kudos: 244
Collections: Teen Wolf Bingo





	The Beach

The mind space Stiles shares with his soulmate is a beach. 

The sand is almost white and when Stiles walks over it, he has to watch out for sharp shells hiding underneath it. This world might not be real, but his brain doesn’t care. It sends him pulses of pain anyway when he steps on a little broken shell.

Where the beach ends, the ocean begins. The water is almost turquoise. It is always calm. Peaceful.The waves rushing to the shore are gentle and warm. Stiles likes to dip his toes into it. He likes to watch the water retreat and return. It is kind of hypnotizing. 

  
Stiles is not sure how this beach has been created. He thinks it might be a combination of his old childhood wish to go to the ocean with his mom and Peter’s desperate longing for peace in his mind.   
  


Stiles likes to be here. He likes to close his eyes, smell the salt and tang, and pretend it is real. He visits the beach as often as he can allow himself to drift off into this place in his mind no one else has access to. 

Peter is always there when Stiles arrives. He always waves and smiles, his eyes sparkling azure in the always shining sun. 

Peter is always here because nothing binds him to reality, Stiles knows. 

Peter is like a castaway, trapped on an island and waiting to be rescued.

But actually, he is trapped inside his mind that paints these and other less pleasant pictures for him. 

Peter’s solid body lays in a bed in a hospital, still and broken like one of the shells under Stiles’ bare feet. 

Stiles is there right now, holding Peter’s hand. He knows his eyes are closed like Peter’s and no one will dare to disturb them. Because everyone sees the mark that connects him and Peter. They see the little monkshood on the back of Stiles’ hand and the moon on Peter’s. And they whisper to each other about this tragic strange pair that might never even meet each other in person. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, sitting beside Peter. The sand is smooth and warm.

Peter doesn’t say anything today. He stares ahead with blank eyes and runs his fingers through the sand rhythmically.

Stiles knows then. Knows it is a bad day. A bad day on which even the gentle rushing of the waves can’t chase away the dark heavy clouds in Peter’s head. Can’t chase away the echo of screams and the faint but sharp smell of smoke.  
  


  
Peter lost his family in a fire. He told Stiles how he arrived to celebrate the birthday of a niece, only to see the house in flames. He told Stiles how he ran in, how he tried to get to them, only to run into a mountain ash barrier.

Peter rammed his body against it until he was numb, the screams died down and the flames reached for him too.

He rammed his body against the invisible wall until someone pulled at him, until someone dragged him out and smothered the flames engulfing half his body. 

  
No one thought Peter would survive the night. But he did. He ended up in a coma and the surviving members of his family told the doctors to keep him alive as long as possible, before they vanished.  
  
  
“I don’t remember much,” Peter said once, while the ocean washed their feet. “I remember agony and darkness and my wolf howling in unbearable pain. But not much more. For a long time. Until you came.”

  
Stiles stumbled into the room by accident. His mom was dying and he couldn’t stand it anymore. Couldn’t stand the too clean smell, the beeping of the heart monitor or the pitying smiles on all the faces around him. Couldn’t stand his Dad’s heart breaking right in front of him.

So he ran. He ran right into Peter’s room. First, Stiles was startled to see the lifeless scarred body in the bed. But when he came closer to Peter, he felt something. A strange pull. Without thinking much, Stiles reached out and touched Peter’s arm. He flinched back with a gasp when something rushed through his body, sharp and white. A moment later, the soulmate mark was burning on the back of his hand. 

Stiles didn’t tell anyone. Not even his mom.

He spends a lot of time at the beach. With Peter.

Reality is messy and loud and so fucking unfair. He doesn’t want to live with his mom gone. He doesn’t want to stand at her grave and hear people say that she is in a better place now. He doesn’t want to.

He just wants to sit here, listening to the waves and holding Peter’s hand, trying to be a comforting presence.  
  
  
“You can’t stay here forever,” Peter tells him eventually.

“You neither,” Stiles retorts.

Peter doesn’t answer.  
  
  


Peter is way older than Stiles. He is also a werewolf.

“That is a problem,” Peter said when they first met, and probably meant both things.

Stiles shrugged. “I think it is cool. That you are a werewolf, I mean. And I don’t care that you are almost twice as old as I am. Who says soulmates always have to kiss immediately? We can be friends. I don’t have a lot of friends. And if we still want to kiss later, we can do that.”

Peter smiled at that. He doesn’t do it often. 

Stiles looks up when he notices that there are clouds forming at the sky, trying to block the sun.

So it is a _really_ bad day.

“Peter,” he says, squeezing the werewolf’s hand. “You are going to make it rain.”

Peter sighs. He closes his eyes. “I am sorry, little one. I am trying.”  
  


Stiles knows Peter is always trying. He is trying to stay sane. He once told Stiles that his wolf wants to go and find the ones responsible for the fire. The wolf wants to hunt and maul and kill.

But Peter keeps him trapped. Because he doesn’t want to be a monster. At least most of the time. Sometimes, it seems like Peter is close to not caring enough anymore. Close to letting go. Stiles wonders what would happen then. Would the beach still be here? Could he still come here? Or would Peter’s wolf tear it into something dark? Something like a violent thunderstorm.

  
Stiles wishes he could do more to help Peter with the new darkness inside himself.

  
But he is letting it rain often enough too. His mom is worse every day. Her skin is paper thin and grey. Her breaths are slow and she barely wakes up anymore. Soon now, he heard his Dad say to one of Stiles’ aunts. Soon.

Stiles doesn’t want _soon_. Here, he has no idea how much time is passing. _Soon_ could be tomorrow, or never. 

  
Peter shakes his head. “Reality still happens, Stiles. You can’t pretend it doesn’t. You can’t stay here forever. You have to live your life. Your future.”

“Not without my mom,” Stiles says, scowling. Suddenly, he wants to jump up and scream and kick the sand. “I don’t want her to be gone.”

Peter makes a little noise. It sounds choked. “I know, Stiles. I didn’t want my sister or my nieces gone, either. But they _are_ gone. And now we have to live. You have to live. It will hurt and you will think there is no tomorrow, but there is. You are young, Stiles. You can do so many amazing things. You can be amazing. I know you will be.”

Stiles swallows. “You aren’t so old, either. You have a life too. When will _you_ live it?”

Peter sighs. He opens his eyes again, looking at Stiles. “I don’t know. I don’t know what will happen when I wake up. I will wake up to a weak body and a raging wolf. I am not sure I will be in control. There is so much pulling me towards losing my mind.”

“I can pull into the other direction,” Stiles suggests. “We could hold hands just like that, hold on and hold each other.”

Peter smiles and wraps an arm around Stiles. “What would I do without you? You are such an amazing, smart, brave boy. I can’t wait to meet you in person.”

“Then wake up,” Stiles urges. He feels alone on the other side. Feels alone in a room full of people. Feels alone with his mom who is now so still. Not being so alone on the other side would maybe make reality less cold.

Peter hums. “I will try to find the courage to do so, okay? But … Not now.” He looks up at the clouds and swallows.

Stiles follows his gaze and says, “I can stay a little while longer, right?”

“Right. But not forever, Stiles,” Peter says mildly.

Stiles nods and looks down, seeing the water retreating softly. It leaves some new shells behind. 


End file.
